Game of Life
by greyswomenyum
Summary: My own prompt: One story – No Season 7 - No Babies – No Angst. Short and sweet very soft PWP.


**AN** - Currently working on a story with wbelisabeth, that is similar to this - ie follows 3 golden rules: No Season 7, No Babies and No Tears... keep an eye out! Meanwhile something totally void of all the 'interesting' things happening on Greys at the moment.

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It was their game.

They would see who would break first. They each knew the others weaknesses and played upon them mercilessly. If it was in a seminar, an M and M, at lunch or even just at home watching TV.

It always started with a touch. Just slight touch. It was sometimes accidental and sometimes not quite so accidental. Their eyes would meet and it would be _on_.

Callie's hand would always land on the peds surgeon's thigh within seconds of the challenge being silently issued. It wouldn't move for a while, save her thumb repeatedly caressing the limb below. This was particularly effective when Arizona wore a skirt or dress, because the milky white skin was always so addictive that she couldn't bring herself to stop.

Arizona's first tactic was to lean over and whisper something in the Latina's ear, letting her soft breath tickle the back of her neck. Goosebumps were a good sign, but when Callie got a cold shiver, it was the blonde's checkpoint to know that she was in with more than just a fighting chance.

If the raven haired woman felt the shiver down her spine she would lick her lips and usually Arizona would blink distractedly, especially when the pink tongue ran it way across the plump juicy lips. If Callie was in the fighting mood she'd sigh audibly in a way that told her competition she too was not giving up without a fight.

Arizona would find something to reach over Callie for, always brushing against the swell of the Latina's chest, sometimes, mostly in summer when clothes were lesser, she felt a hardened nipple through the layers of clothing. It was then the blonde knew she'd hit trouble because it was that stage, when the brown eyed girl started playing for keeps, but also when the black haired woman's arousal fed her own.

Callie would move her hand, whose thumb had been caressing the milky soft thigh. The hand would go closer and instead of the thumb caressing her whole hand got in on the act. Moving closer, but never quite _there_. It was usually then that the blondes head tilted back, making her neck entirely visible.

That drove Callie crazy.

But neither were one to give in easily. Particularly in public. Even though, through flushed faces and cheeks, darkened eyes and heavy breathing all made it quite obvious what both their feelings on the subject were.

Arizona's hand would stray to under Callie's shirt, payback for her own skin on skin torture. She loved rubbing soft circles over the soft skin and would even roam higher when no one was looking.

That's the thing though. When someone caught them, it didn't stop them. It made them worse. They would get bolder. Gentle caresses turned into subtle massaging. Want became need. Close became _there._ In fact the attention just made everything more intense.

Callie would lean over and bury herself in Arizona's hair. Anyone would think that she was just nuzzled in. The blonde hair was really hiding lips brushing against skin, roaming what space they could tongue and teeth followed closely behind.

It was this point that the game was truly in the balance, because both women could not keep their hands to their selves. It was at this point that milliseconds separate suggestions of moving somewhere else, unless they of course are at home on the couch. That is when the suggestions were a little louder, a little less like suggestions. In cases such as those words such as "Fuck me now Calliope", "Make me come Arizona", "More" And "Now" floated around.

Neither would play, both of them wanted their body against the other. Inevitably it would be so. Hardened nipples would meet and caress. Hands would roam, grabbing skin or hair. Names would be sighed. Their bodies against each other would fuel the flame. Their own skin hot until it brushed the others and then they would both ignite. Hands would roam lower, fingers would thrust, backs would arch. Begging occurred. Sometimes whispers of 'please' and other times shouts of 'Oh God, Oh God'.

Their eyes would stay locked even as their hips rocked faster and faster, fingers travelled over their swollen nerve filled buds. Even as they felt control leave they refused to break their contact. For it was one thing to say this was a game, their game, and while it was their game it was their gift, their hope, their life. So as muscles contracted and breaths were gulped they held each other for dear life. It didn't matter who broke first or who held on.

This was their game. They always won.


End file.
